


it took a car crash to bring me to life

by these_dreams_go_on



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: AU Modern Setting, Bellarke, Gen, Minor Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane, Parent Abby Griffin, background Bellarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 00:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/these_dreams_go_on/pseuds/these_dreams_go_on
Summary: Abby Griffin has never cared for Clarke's boyfriend Bellamy, but when her husband dies and her daughter is injured, spending time with him helps her to appreciate him more.





	it took a car crash to bring me to life

**Author's Note:**

> Got a prompt request on my tumblr, thought 'why the hell not?'

It was something out of a tv drama.

Abby had been on her way out the door, her shift finally over and mindlessly chatting with Jackson, teasing him about his weekend plans when she’s vaguely heard the call of the paramedics.

“Female, twenty-years old, car crash, steering wheel fracture and head trauma, minor abrasions, male passenger DOA. Car went off the road and into the river.”

Abby had winced sympathetically, glanced at the patient being wheeled past and turned back to Jackson before her mind fully processed the image.

Her feet were moving of their own volition, her handbag slipping off her arm and tumbling to the floor as she stumbled towards the gurney, halting it in its path as she stared down at the patient.

“Abby,” Dr Major Byrne huffed, not yet comprehending,

“Your shift is over, go home!”

“That’s my daughter!” Abby gasped, cupping her face in her hands,

“Clarke…honey…can you hear me?”

She was covered in mud, soaking wet and only a flicker of her eyelids suggested she might be conscious.

Her lips parted and she inhaled a ragged breath before croaking one single word.

“Dad…?”

* * *

Nobody who worked in any kind of emergency department would ever admit this, but when one of their own came in, they worked just a little bit harder, a little bit faster, pushing themselves just a fraction more than they would for the average patient.

So, Abby knows that her people are doing everything they can for her daughter. When Jackson pushes his way into her room, overseeing Clarke’s treatment and spouting off her medical history with his voice slightly raised so Abby can hear everything, she knows her child is in the best hands.

Still, she has to lean against the wall, her hands shaking as one of the nurses tries to talk her down.

“Dr Griffin?” she asks, “Is there anyone we can call?”

She shakes her head, not wanting to speak and Jackson emerges from behind the curtain, reporting that her daughter will be taken upstairs to have her head examined, but otherwise, her injuries aren’t life-threatening.

“Abby?” Jackson prompts, taking her hands and gripping them tightly, “Did you hear me?”

“Male passenger,” she whispers, her throat tight, “DOA.”

Jackson nods quickly, “I’ll check down in the morgue, and with the para…”

He trails off, his eyes widening in horror, remembering how Abby had been complaining about having to cover for a sick co-worker because she had planned to attend a charity function that evening.

How her husband had asked Clarke to go with him instead.

* * *

Jake had been thrown clear of the car before it went into the river, his body clear of mud and the rain had washed away the blood from the minor cuts and abrasions.

Still, it takes Abby fifteen minutes to I.D him, because…how can this man be her husband? Where was his steady personality, his straight posture but friendly, welcoming smile?

Where was the man she had loved for twenty years?

The cold air seeped into her bones and she’s shivering violently as Jackson ushers her from the morgue, leading her back to the nurses’ station where the paramedics were waiting to tell her what had happened.

She can only stare dumbly at them.

Nyko was one of the most skilled and certified paramedics in the country, having been offered scholarships and credits for medical school to become a doctor but he preferred his role as first responder. He was nearly six ft, with a long beard and facial tattoos that screamed dangerous but was one of the gentlest souls Abby had ever met.

“Rainbow,” she blurted and Nyko paused, his blue eyes steady and unwavering,

“When she was five, you let my daughter paint a rainbow on your forehead,” she continued, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat, 

“It was mostly pink and green.”

He nodded, a faint smile on his lips, “I remember,” he said, 

“She was a very happy child.”

She clears her throat, “You were first on scene?”

He nodded, “There was some sort of oil on the road, the car must have hit it and gone over the edge into the river. A passer-by called it in and we arrived before the fire department, we found Clarke about half a mile downriver, she’d managed to crawl out of the water.”

Crawl.

There was something about that word. Something so broken.

Her daughter, the child she had carried in her womb had been forced to crawl out of rushing water, fighting strong tides, to the rocky riverbank.

She covers her mouth with her hand and tries to steady her breathing.

Her eyes fill with tears and there’s a blur of white in front of her.

Nyko’s work experience trainee, a girl not much older than her daughter, her hair kept back in a braid is handing her a small pack of tissues.

“I’m…sorry for your loss.” She mumbles and Abby manages a watery smile,

“Thank-you.”

She steps back so she has the nurses station behind her, keeping her upright and she wipes her eyes, and she finds herself wondering if she was wearing mascara.

Which she never did.

But if she was right now, she’d look tragic.

She slaps her hand to her mouth as a laugh bubbles up within her.

She must be in shock.

The doors to the ER open and she’s positioned to see the young man who races in. He’s wearing black pants and a grey button-down shirt and Abby wonders for a moment why now is the first time she’s ever seen him well dressed.

She must be hidden by Nyko’s frame, because he calls out “Harper,” and strides over to Nyko’s trainee, “Where is she?”

Abby leans right, “Mr Blake,” she says firmly and he turns to her, recognition written across his features,

“What are  _you_ doing here?”

He blinks in confusion, “I was told Clarke had been in an accident and was here.”

He turns back to Harper, “Where is she?”

Harper glances at Nyko and then Abby, “Room 319.” She answers and Bellamy nods, backtracking to the entry area where he nearly collides with a messy brunette who he hastily converses with before heading to the elevators.

* * *

Abby had been less than impressed when Finn Collins, the handsome, sweet boy, had disappeared from Clarke’s life and been replaced a year later with Bellamy Blake.

The man was from the Factory area of town and had the hard edge to him that showed a rough life. His hands were calloused and whenever Abby had seen him, he’d been casually dressed, his eyebrows raised in challenge when she’d looked pointedly at his clothes, as if daring her to reveal her Arkadia prejudices.

Still, every argument she had made to her daughter about the unsuitability of this man had been met with hostility and had almost broken down their already tense relationship.

Jake had suggested that perhaps they should get to know the man, after all, if Clarke loved him, there must be something worthwhile about him.  

Jake always saw the good in everyone.

 _Had_ always seen the good in everyone.

Room 319 was a private room and Abby walks in, moving automatically to the various machines, reading the stats before she can bring herself to look at her daughter lying unconscious in the bed.

She had been cleaned up, the mud washed from her hair, returning it to the blonde colour that had always caused strangers to gaze admiringly and then glance confusedly up at Abby’s mousy brown locks.

Bellamy Blake has pulled up a seat as close to the bed as he could get and was running his fingers through the strands draped on the pillow, gently untangling the knots,

The moment is intimate and Abby wants to smack his arm, to remind him that they’re in a public place, not that terrible apartment Clarke insisted on calling home in that terrible area of town. Honestly why she had ever moved out of their home in Polis when she could have easily driven to university everyday was beyond Abby.

“Visiting hours are over,” Abby informs him, sitting down in a chair on the opposite side of the bed that he must have put there for her, 

“You can visit again between nine am and eight pm.”

His hand stills and his jaw clicks, “I’m not leaving her.”

Abby sniffs and shrugs, “They might call security.”

He lifts his head then, glaring at her, 

“Clarke is hurt. I know you hate me, but until she’s okay, you’ll just have to live with me being here, ma’am.”

He adds the polite contraction after a pause, as if reminding himself to be polite.

He’d never hesitated to call Jake ‘sir’.

Before she can respond, there’s a knock at the door and the messy brunette with black leggings and a sweater proclaiming her to be the ‘World’s Okayest Brother’, hung off the frame, leaning in to glance at Abby before ignoring her in favour of Bellamy Blake.

“Hey…” she says, “So, I told everyone to stay home and come in tomorrow morning but they’re all downstairs in the waiting room, Murphy is going to do a coffee and snack run in about an hour.”

Bellamy huffed as if annoyed but Abby saw a hint of something warm in his expression,

“If they insist on staying, remind them to check if they have commitments tomorrow they have to call off, and can you get Raven to go back and grab some clothes for Clarke?”

The girl snorted, “Raven isn’t leaving. Some nurse tried to order back to the waiting room, I think he’s dead now.”

Dead.

Abby flinched at that word, it was so simple yet disgusting in its finality.

Bellamy nods, “Okay, Lincoln downstairs?”

The girl nods, “Good, have him grab Raven’s key and pick up whatever Clarke’ll need.”

She makes some noise of assent and leaves, sliding the door hard enough so that it banged closed and Abby flinched.

“Sorry,” Bellamy murmurs, catching her attention, “Octavia has been playing drums since she was thirteen, I think she’s starting to get hearing loss.”

Octavia.

She runs the name through her mind until she places it.

“Octavia Blake,” she states, “Your sister.”

He nods, “She loves Clarke.”

That was…nice.

“And everyone?” she asks, “The ones taking up the waiting room downstairs?”

“Raven, Monty, Jasper, Miller, Murphy…has anyone called Wells?”

Wells Jaha. Currently studying at Harvard, with plans to follow in his father’s political footsteps.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Abby protests as Bellamy grabs his phone, 

“He won’t want…”

“If he was in an accident, Clarke would want to know, no matter what time it was.” He interrupts, “I have his number, I’ll let him know.”

He hesitates and leans over Clarke, kissing her cheek before striding from the room.

Abby closes her eyes, resting her hand on her daughter’s arm and hopes she’ll wake up before Bellamy Blake in all his loud abrasiveness returns.

* * *

Clarke was discharged two days later, and Abby persuaded her that she should be with her family during this time.

Unfortunately, she and Clarke had very different definitions of family.

Abby had taken a leave of absence from work for the month and had opened Clarke’s room at Griffin House, patting down the bed spread and perching herself on it to give herself a moment.

Had she showered today?

She had sat through the night with her daughter and then held her after she’d broken the news to her as gently as possible. She had crashed on her couch for a short nap, woken up by Bellamy Blake when the police had decided to question her daughter.

She had come home to change but she couldn’t remember whether she’d showered or just put on new clothes.

Looking down, she saw that she was dressed for the winter season, a purple knit dress.

Was she supposed to be wearing black?

Nia would know. Her sister-in-law would arrive and tell her what exactly had to be done for the mourning of a Griffin.

She hears the sensor alerting her to a car approaching and already picturing the harsh embrace of her sister-in-law, cold but enforcing strength, hurries down the hall, to the main staircase to see the door open and two people entering.

Neither of them were Nia.

Clarke was moving slowly, having suffered whiplash, she inches forward on the tiled floor, Bellamy moving behind her but his arms tense, looking ready to catch her if she fell.

“Sweetie?” Abby called, coming down the stairs, 

“I thought you weren’t due to be discharged for another hour, I was going to come get you.”

Clarke raised her head, “There was an accident at Mt Weather, they needed the beds.”

There’s noise behind them and Abby sees Clarke’s housemate limping through the door, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, 

“Where should we throw your stuff?” she asks her daughter.

Clarke’s eyes are bloodshot and she’s swallowing every few seconds, but when she approaches Abby, her voice is clear, 

“My room been turned into a theatre yet?”

God.

Jake had used to jokingly threaten their daughter that he would convert her room into a home theatre, with a flat screen that took up the entire wall and a popcorn machine.

He would never send her links to popcorn machines again.

“Not yet,” Abby managed a grim smile, “Come on.”

* * *

Clarke is tucked into bed and Abby bites her tongue when Bellamy lies down on top of the blankets beside her, but she feels a nudge on her shoulder and Raven shrugs,

“Can I have a cup of tea?”

Immediately, Abby feels her hostess smile forcing her lips upwards, “Of course.”

Abby leads Raven down to the pristine white kitchen and her steps slow as she reaches the island.

She didn’t drink tea.

Jake had but she didn’t know…

She wipes furiously at her eyes, “Uh…I think there’s some in the pantry?”

Raven opens the pantry door, “Wow,” she laughs, “It’s like Narnia in here.”

She rustles around on the shelves, “Do you like to cook?”

No.

She couldn’t remember the last time a meal had been cooked in this kitchen. The pantry was filled with unopened spices, herbs, jams and canned goods that had been bought and never used.

Oh.

“Jake tried to teach Clarke to cook once,” Abby blurts out, 

“We had to remodel the kitchen afterwards.”

Raven laughs, “Was that the mac and cheese incident? When she told us, we thought she was lying!”

“Unfortunately, no,” Abby answers, shuffling around the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers until she finds a teapot and the kettle, sitting back on the stool as Raven put the water on to boil.

“So…” the young woman drawls, hoisting herself up onto the bench, 

“How’re you going with everything?”

“I’m good,” she answers automatically before catching herself, because she saw how patients occasionally gave the same response before remembering that they weren’t good.

“I honestly don’t know,” she offers truthfully, “My husband is dead, my daughter is in pain and there’s nothing I can do to fix either of these things. I feel so helpless.”

Raven drops her head, “You know, when I was trying to learn how to walk with a brace, I sucked at it, so I figured out what I didn’t suck at and went from there.”

Abby manages a wry grin, “Sound advice, I’m good at cutting people open and putting things inside them or pulling them out, you game?”

Raven smirks and is about to answer when the doorbell rings, followed by a pounding and she hops off the bench, “Something wrong?”

“No,” Abby sighed, “It’s begun.”

“What has?”

“The condolences.”

The doorbell rang continuously for the rest of the afternoon, endless bouquets of flowers being delivered with cards embossed with the sender’s names and inane sentiments. It mattered less what was being said than who was sending it.

The Wallace family sent the largest bouquet, it barely fit through the double French doors and Abby had no idea where to put the three-foot scentless white roses drenched in perfume monstrosity.

“People are dicks,” Raven declared, sneezing as she caught a face full of baby’s breath.

“Flowers are useless. Who thinks ‘Oh, my friend died, let me send their family something else that dies!’”

Abby isn’t particularly a fan of flowers, they’re neither here nor there for her. In the hospital, they’re something they have to worry about causing allergic reactions, in the house, it’s something she has to place and the maid has to throw out after a few days.

“They’re letting me know that they’re thinking about me, in this trying time.” She responds dutifully but Raven snorts, 

“If they really cared they’d be sending booze or you know, food.”

Food.

Abby moves to the kitchen and opens the fridge, noting that it was completely empty of cooked meals. 

Every few days, Jake had cooked a large meal and portioned it out for the two of them.

He had also been in charge of ordering the groceries.

He’d done it online but Abby had no idea what site he had used, what his account was…

Slamming the fridge door shut, she moves to the sink and finds herself dry-heaving, her skin itchy, her hair heavy as it slid over her neck and her back aching.

Raven appears beside her with a glass of water and Abby wants to point out that the tap water isn’t filtered, but instead, she just sips at it carefully and takes a deep breath,

“I’m going to lie down.”

* * *

Her bed still smells like Jake, which she can’t bear, so she goes to a guest room, one that was usually taken by her nephew Roan, but considering his tendency to help himself to her medicines and liquor cabinet whenever he stayed, she didn’t think he’d begrudge her the rumpled sheets.

She can’t sleep, she can only lie there staring up at the ceiling and trying to force herself to keep it together.

She checks the clock on the nightstand and once she’s past the three-hour mark, she gets up, brushes down her dress and slips her heels back on, going to her daughter’s room only to find it empty.

Concerned, she picks up her pace, hurrying through the house, checking the various rooms until she heads down the stairs, hearing noise from the parlour.

She sees that her Lexington upholstery salon sofas aren’t being used as intended, the pillows had been scattered around the floor and Clarke’s duvet was draped over the seats, with a hint of her daughter’s head visible. She seemed to be cuddled up with Octavia Blake and the two of them were watching the Simpsons.

She feels awkward lingering in the edge of the room watching them so she turns to leave, meandering into the kitchen for the secret stash of wine she’d hidden from her nephew. She finds that all the lights are on and she’s currently under home invasion.

She recognizes two of the people in the room and clears her throat, catching Bellamy Blake’s attention and he straightens up from the island where he had been slicing something.

“Ma’am,” he nods, “How are you?”

She blinks, “Unaware that we were having a dinner party.”

His jaw clicks but he shrugs, “There was nothing in the house to eat, I thought a homecooked meal would be good for everyone.”

He uses his hand to gesture to the horde of casually dressed people in her kitchen.   
  
“Raven you know, this is Jasper and his girlfriend Maya, Monty and Miller, Lincoln is outside with Murphy.”

“We’re friends with your daughter,” Miller explains, “We’re here for her.”

Less than a dozen words but two insults in that sentence.

The young man who was either Jasper or Monty clears his throat, 

“Bellamy has us all helping out. Maya took down the names of all the people who sent you flowers, made a list and is coming up with a thank-you form letter. Clarke gave Raven and Monty your husband’s laptop and they’ve compiled the list of banks, insurers, and other people you need to contact and inform about his death. Miller is fielding any non-urgent calls on your landline and collecting all the government documents you have to fill out. Lincoln and Murphy are outside checking the engine of your cars and any other handiwork that can be done.”

Abby was stunned and followed Bellamy when he turned back to the island and resumed his task.

“You managed all this in a few hours?” she asked quietly and he shrugged,

“Pretty easy when you can delegate.”

His presence usually irritates her but right now he’s calming so she remains near him,

“Can I help with anything?”

His lips quirk up and she sees amusement in them, 

“Raven tells me that Clarke’s mac and cheese story is real so…”

Abby smirks, “I’ll supervise.”

He watches as she reaches under the island, pushing aside three dusty cooking books and coming up with a bottle of red wine, 

“My husband’s family call themselves ‘hearty drinkers’” she explains, 

“The medical term is alcoholism.”

He smirks, and begins chopping onions, which Abby pointedly looks away from.

“What are you making?” she asks, eyeing the pot on the stove.  

“Sinigang,” he answers, expounding when he sees her clear confusion,

“My grandparents are Filipino, they taught me how to make this and I used to make it whenever Octavia was sick, then whenever any of our friends were sick, then they started asking for it when they were sad…”

“Are you sure you’re not just the only one of them that can cook?” she suggests and his shoulders shake with humour, “It’s a plausible theory.”

This is the best behaviour they’ve ever shown towards one another and Abby wants to keep it going but can’t think of any topic of conversation that isn’t about her dead husband, her grieving daughter or the funeral arrangements she would have to make tomorrow.

“My sister-in-law should be arriving tomorrow,” she informs him, “You should all be warned, she hasn’t smiled since her wedding photos.”

Bellamy grins, carrying the board over to the pot and sliding the ingredients in, “Clarke’s told me about her aunt Nia, but she said her cousin Roan is pretty cool.”

Abby hums in disapproval, sipping on her wine, 

“Her cousin Roan hasn’t been sober since he was thirteen years old, at one point, cane toads were licking him to get high. Honestly, that he functions at all is in itself a medical marvel that scientists should be studying.”  

“I’m also certain that he plies her with alcohol whenever they’re together.”

Bellamy gives her a look of feigned innocence that suggests Abby is close to the mark and comments on the weather.

* * *

Roan arrives first in the morning, his pupils already dilated and his ubereats pastry order following him ten minutes afterwards.

“Mother is shopping for her funeral clothes,” he explains, rolling his eyes and a cigarette that Abby pointedly glares at until he gets the message and tucks it behind his ear,

“She asked me to remind you that the Griffin’s have always used the same funeral planner and company and there should already be a custom family package for Jake.”

Abby sends him to the backyard for his smoke and goes to the kitchen, noting that even though Jasper and Monty, who had made sugar with a side of pancakes for breakfast, had washed up and put the dishes away, there was still an air of the room having been used which there hadn’t been for a good ten years.

It was pleasant.

Clarke shuffled into the kitchen, still moving slowly and hugged her good morning,

“There’s a coffee maker around here somewhere, isn’t there?” she mumbles,

“Did I dream that?”

Abby shakes her head, “No, I remember Jaha giving it to us for Christmas, I think it came with those pod things…”

She hunts it down, finding it unopened and still with a bit of wrapping stuck to the bottom as Clarke was swept up into a hug by her cousin, who preceded to slip something into her mouth that Abby suspected would be an opioid pain medication.

Seeing that the coffee pods weren’t too far out of date, she figures out how to get the machine working and the smell of freshly brewed- manufactured?- coffee drew the children from all corners of the house. They seemed to have some sort of system set up, Bellamy got first access to the machine and made a cup that was set aside for Clarke, who Abby remembered drank it black and barely even stopped to look at the liquid. He then added an alarming amount of sugar to his own and drank it Octavia and Maya took their own turns, followed by Jasper and Monty did something atrocious to their own cups, seemingly turning their coffee into meth. Lincoln and Raven preferred tea and Murphy stared at the contraption, turned to the fridge and somehow found a can of soda that had not been there the night before.

Abby sipped on her own coffee, typically used to ordering a triple espresso from the café in the hospital, throwing it down and chasing it with a shot of water to counter the burning in her throat before going back to work.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had stopped to enjoy the beverage.

She stood beside Lincoln, the two of them silent observers as the rest of the group descended into caffeinated squabbling, talking over each other, finishing each other’s sentences and communicating in a way incomprehensible to outsiders.

They paused when Clarke came back in, blinking slowly and introduced her cousin who took them all in, nodded and draped an arm over Abby’s shoulder as the chaos resumed.

“Clarke has left us to live amongst the humans,” Roan whispered in her ear, “Soon she will become one of them.”

Abby snorts, but watches as her daughter emerges from her grief and pain to tell Octavia to stop flicking Murphy in the ear.

* * *

Nia is horrified when she arrives, asking Abby in a loud whisper why the house was full of ‘the poor’.

She takes over organizing the funeral, making it an ostentatious societal event worthy of the illustrious Griffin name. But Abby finds herself okay with this, because while Nia is ordering a catering company fly in from New York to service the wake and insisting that the funeral home make space for a string quartet; Abby has Roan help her move chairs from the formal sun-room to the parlour so she and the kids can binge-watch tv shows, and debate the merits of pizza versus burgers for afternoon snacks, she feels that surrounding herself with life is a much better way to remember her husband.

And despite Nia’s insistence that she and Clarke should take two Xanax and two modafinil each the day of the funeral, lest they ruin their make-up with tears, both of them palm the pills and sneak them to Roan. 

For once, Abby is less concerned with appearances, and, when Thelonious, who insisted on speaking, steps aside at the cemetery to make sure the cameras are focused solely on him, she lifts the Hermes handkerchief, Nia had declared necessary, to cover her mouth as she comments about what he could do with that speech.

Clarke doesn’t hear her but Bellamy does and shifts closer, putting his hand on her back in a comforting gesture and she momentarily leans her head against his arm.

* * *

It takes her a while to fully emerge from her grief back into the land of the living.

Although, Roan left her enough uppers that she manages to stay active at least, but after six months, she pauses in her routine and looks to make changes to her life.

She goes part-time at the hospital and takes up shifts at a free clinic near Clarke’s apartment, coming to the slow and embarrassing realization that while the neighborhood wasn’t in the same tax bracket as the family home, it had a trendiness and character that couldn’t be found in her own whitewashed, antique lamp lined streets.

Jackson follows her from the hospital to the clinic, the two of them one day running into Miller which subsequently leads to Jackson and Miller ‘accidentally’ running into each other on a near daily basis. One day, when Abby invites Miller to join the two of them for lunch and then bails on them so it becomes a date, she wanders into a bookshop and comes across Bellamy Blake.

Somehow everyone knew everyone else in this neighborhood and there seemed to be a hundred people who not only knew Bellamy but considered him their demigod and were more than willing to fight anyone who disagreed.

There was an unwritten law that the man never paid for coffee at the Dropship but Abby saw the ten-dollar bill he sneaks into the tip jar when no-one was looking.

Slowly, she gets to know him better. She learns that the Blake family didn’t have much growing up and that because of this he was fiscally responsible but also generous to a fault. Aurora Blake had died when he was seventeen and he had raised Octavia alone, developing a mothering tendency that saw him with the makeshift family that had closed ranks around her daughter after Jake’s death.

She learns how mistaken she was in her prejudices and genuinely comes to care for the man, appreciative of his common sense and his quiet but passionate love for her daughter. Two years later, when Clarke is wearing an engagement ring on a chain around her neck and giving her friend’s grey hairs because of how casually and slowly she and Bellamy are planning their wedding, it’s her future son-in-law that Abby speaks to about possibly beginning a relationship with Marcus Kane, seeking his advice and perhaps even his approval.

Five years after that, at her wedding brunch, Abby gives a short speech thanking each of Clarke’s delinquents by name but especially Bellamy, for his love and support, though she does stress that he’s her  _future_ -son-in-law, hoping he and her daughter will get the hint to finally get married.  


End file.
